Reviews Coming Soon

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Not many bands have released albums throughout one decade, skipped
one, then returned to release more in the next. But then Primus are no
ordinary band. And here they are with their original line-up (frontman
Les Claypool, guitarist Larry LaLonde and drummer Tim Alexander) all
back together and set to release their first full-length studio set for
the first time in nearly 20 years. And their project? A reworking of the
1971 soundtrack that accompanied the original Charlie And The Chocolate Factory film. I titter ye not.

Created as a reaction to the horrors imposed by the ghastly 2005
remake with the $150 million budget, Les turned to the one with the $3
million budget that so defined his youth – “I really wanted to pay
homage to the film that was very important to me as a kid and very
influential to me musically. And as opposed to going in and recording
the songs and playing them the way they are in the film, we twisted them
up a bit… we twisted them up a lot“.

It’s very apparent that, whilst dipping into the innocence, joy and
colour that so burst out at them from the celluloid screen, Primus have
also mastered the more sinister aspects lurking behind the factory and
its owner. Of course, the wondrous industrial machines of the film play a
part here. In fact, they take the starring role with each track finding
its own rhythmic pump, groan and splurge to play along to. Les also
uses a variety of voices to graphically narrate the story channelling a
range of styles from Mike Patton to Kermit The Frog.

Lurking at the heart of the album, introduced by the,
blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, four seconds of introductory fanfare that is
“Lermaninoff”, are the tracks “Pure Imagination” (with its slowly
crescendoing background scales imparting the fear of God into the
listener), the “Oompa” variations and “Semi-Wondrous Boat Ride”
(complete with gruesome Jaws-esque bow-sawing). Here, they dig
into the underlying horror of using temptation as an excuse to abduct
kids (no matter how flawed those characters may be) with Les reprising
Gene Wilder’s manic, wild-eyed Pied Piper figure. Flashed,
suppressed images of beheaded chickens and maggoty corpses will
undoubtedly return from your collective memory bank.

“Candyman”, backed by a pained moo-ing setting the rhythm and a nifty
rat-a-tat lyrical style, is an odd one, with the majestic howling
echoes of “Farewell Wonkites” not far behind. However, the mad ravings
of “Wonkmobile” takes the prize for freakiest inclusion. Understandably,
the similarity of the four “Oompa” tracks do hold the album back but
there are also some songs that feel detached from the overall tone. As
an example, the variety of instrumental touches that back “Give It To Me
Now” do kick it from the souks of Marrakech to Morricone’s Wild West
but as a rule it’s played just too darn straight to fit.

You will recognise the amount of love and thought that has gone into
these re-workings and the result really is something the band can be
rightly proud of. Alternative in every sense of the word, elegant in
places and truly scary in others, Primus’ Chocolate Factory is definitely a place you’ll want to visit. C’mon, Paramount – re-release the film with this soundtrack worked in. Just for shits & giggles?

Monday, October 20, 2014

Ah, the joys of coming across the onomatopoeic band-name. To all intents and purposes, Craang sounds like their moniker suggests they should. The sudden resonant “craaannng”
of strings reverberating through a mass of distortion. Actual metal on
metal action. Oddly enough, as a heavy band capable of dredging up some
powerful emotions, Craang are reminiscent of another onomatopoeic band,
Kongh. Despite their blacker outlook and doomier “kooooonnngh” those Swedes definitely share a love for a good wall-of-sound and pounding repetition with this impressive Greek trio.

As a debut album, quite frankly TTESOTU is astounding. There
have been plenty of releases of late riding the retro gravy train but
this four-track concoction of space, stoner and psych is quite unlike
anything that has come before. Yes, some of its content may bear a
passing resemblance to Hawkwind, Zappa or Pink Floyd but it actually
draws strength from far more contemporary sounds than these. Take
“Butterfly” for example. It digs out the kind of sick, splattering riff
that Fu Manchu or Orange Goblin might have conjured and rides it until
it sinks so far into your consciousness that you cease to notice it any
more. You can feel your own pulse begin to syncopate, realigning itself
with the music to create a new cadence for you to live by. Not only
this, but the cyclical lyric “hold your breath” [or "breasts" as it
beings to sound after one to many t̶o̶k̶e̶s̶ rotations] will follow you
to your grave. All this, and still the music remains utterly uplifting,
infectiously introspective and emotionally exacting.

Throughout, you’ll pick up on the slow, steady development taking
place in the layers beyond the drone fuzz brushstrokes. Forever
shifting, the picture morphs before your eyes, as much as the album’s
stunning artwork suggests it might. Perhaps it’s the warm production,
maybe it’s the fact that as a three-piece the sound is spartan rather
than busy, or perhaps it’s the little effervescent qualities that shine
through, but all I know is that “Magnolia” plays like an absolute dream.
You really do feel a certain sense of having been removed from space
and time as you go drifting off into the cosmos-stretching sonic
wonderland that Craang have created here.

One criticism one might throw in their direction is that they have a
tendency to wallow towards repetition a little too easily. Consequently,
all the songs bear a passing resemblance to one another – “Slo Forward
Jam” plays like an instrumental build to the majesty of its neighbour,
whilst the lengthy jam, “The Meteorian”, essentially drives off the same
rhythmic pattern that “Magnolia” sets up. What this latter track does
sport is some effortlessly affecting dreampop lyrics and an immense
section of synth that lifts the whole piece into something incredibly
cinematic in feel. You might also catch the strains of a flying saucer
coming in to land as they wind up the warble effect to Biblical
proportions. The truth is out there, apparently.

There is definitely no hiding from the enigmatic joy, passion and
crushing presence that this album carries. The whole is weighty yet the
tone remains light as a feather. Quite where they go from this
mountaintop remains to be seen, but the safest bet on the planet would
be an immediate invite to Roadburn, ProgPower or Desertfest.

I've been throwing some input into a few of these selections recently...

Heavy Blog Is Heavy's Best Of: Spooky Albums For Halloween

Dark Buddha Rising might just be the creepiest band I have ever come
across. Their occult, languorous doom-drone is divisively seductive.
With a tone so dark, yet one so easily penetrated, it's all too easy
to get
swept up in its sultry underscore. Their music expands ever outward
from a mile-thick chant that sounds like
it comes from the throats of a coven of hooded giants. Loud enough
to rattle your teeth with enough low-end to invade the
sub-conscious,
then suffocating and brutal enough to send your brain into spasms.
It is music that lurks in the shadows; garotte wire at the ready. Dakhmandal is a stupefying, suffocating veil; it is a lesson in the art of covert indoctrination.

Heavy Blog Is Heavy's Best Of: Power Metal

Embedded with the symphonic side of power metal rather than the speedier characteristic, this Turisas
debut really has more to do with folk metal, yet it remains a valid and
important touchstone to finding the true heart and soul of the genre.
Like those other albums listed here, it’s without doubt a pure
celebration of metal. It’s uplifting and, actually, quite oddly amusing.
I defy anyone who hears this for the first time not to smile.
Throughout, it bubbles with orchestral instrumentation. There’s the
utter joy and mesmeric, dancing accordion of ‘In The Court Of Jarisleif’ and the bright and sparkling ‘Fields of Gold’.
It all flows beautifully and comes hard-wired with a steady rhythmic
underscore, pulsating drums and sweeping keys. Of course, the bonus is
the fact it tells the 11th century tale of the Vikings’ (or rather the
Varangians’) journey through the Baltic, so it really is the most fun
you can have while learning history.

Heavy Blog Is Heavy's Best Of: Way, Way Different

You want a change of musical direction? Try Iron Maiden‘s The Number Of The Beast
on for size. Being NWOBHM pioneers, the sound of those early albums was
hewn from a combination of the strongest heavy music scenes of the time
– melodic rock, thrash and, thanks to Paul Di’Anno’s delivery, a heavy
dose of punk. Bruce Dickinson, arriving from the all-conquering Samson,
brought us his operatic range, his ear for harmony and, most importantly
of all, his love for a good story. Consequently, the songwriting became
more complex and the performances more vivid.

Without doubt, being an album displaying both bite and melody, this
is their crossover point. Here, they are still attuned to their
thrashier side, as tracks like the faster, punchier “Invaders” and “22
Acacia Avenue” will attest (you can almost hear the influence of Di’Anno
snarling somewhere behind Dickinson’s sharp, clipped delivery).
However, by the time they hit the monster, more languid, storytelling of
songs like the infectious title-track and the eerie “Hallowed Be Thy
Name” they are breaking new ground and carving their future careers in
stone. Both these legendary numbers still stand out proudly today as two
of their best.

Heavy Blog Is Heavy's Best Of: Progressive Metalcore

Having seared our earlobes with the intensive rough-edged ‘core of 2009’s In The Shadow Of Gods,
last year the UK’s No Consequence set about joining up the dots and
coloring in the spaces with a good dose of progressive layering.
Listening to IO now, still the key to unlocking the beast within
lies in the lyrical content. Here, is a bunch of pissed-off individuals,
angry at the way that this modern life of ours works. Fists are shaken
at the lies that are fed, the political red tape that we have to cross
and the cover-ups that keep those to blame safe. Married to these
strong, emotive hardcore ethics comes either a focussed, fiery assault
or subversive side-steps into spaced-out, atmospheric prog.

Whether
screamed or sung, played at break-neck or ponderous speeds, the whole is
balanced beautifully. It is the sort of loud, impactful music that
current heroes The Safety Fire have been blowing our minds with of late.
One defining focal point that says it all comes worming its way through
the skidding middle-distance wedge of strings and drums, from behind
the drop-offs and dreamscaping, from beyond even the distant, meandering
lead. One solitary voice; a bellowed front of house vocal that builds
to scream “What have we become?” in our recoiling faces. Yes, busting
with infectious hooks, introspective wit and some of the most gorgeous
segues this side of an Arusha Accord construction, IO marks one giant leap in the evolution of No Consequence.

Ready to turn on, tune in and drop out? Good, because this week has
seen the release of My Brother The Wind’s third album. Diving straight
in, it seems we have the stoned vibe to end all stoned vibes.

By evoking
the kind of gentile, mind-expanding experiences prompted by bands like
Pink Floyd, Amon Düül and Hawkwind, this Swedish quartet (comprising
Anekdoten’s Nicklas Barker, Makajodama’s Mathias Danielsson, The
Greencoats’ Daniel Fridlund Brandt and Magnolia’s Ronny Eriksson) caused
a bit of a stir when they played Roadburn Festival last year and it’s
easy to see why.

This latest instrumental album of theirs was tracked in a single day
and plays like its been ripped from one single jam. It’s based around a
simple premise. First, there’s the set-up. The slow winding up of the
background noise like an orchestra warming their instruments. Then comes
the bass setting a jazzy pattern as the warping effects begin to grind
down, and then finally the rhythmic snare brushing and rolling riff that
drag the bass into line to set the pace. “Song Of Innocence”, split
into to parts, is essentially a pastiche of tricks that twist and bend
the drifting sound whilst the exploratory lead guitar runs through its
repertoire of solos utilizing ear-to-ear phonics to mess with the
noggin. Wrapped up in a cotton wool fuzz, everything is kept soft ,
bluesy and echoing gently.

“Into The Cosmic Halo” is the first track to break-out as the
hedonistic psych backs off and the riff finally kicks in. By suppressing
the drums behind the bass and lead, they have left the album feeling a
little cut adrift from its moorings but that isn’t necessarily a bad
thing. Stripping the layers back further MTBW bring in a strong ethnic
vibe to produce “Misty Mountainside” and “Garden Of Delights”. Boasting
acoustic guitar, bells and tabla drums, the former drags you out to the
peace and tranquility of a Himalayan monastery, and then has you
breathing in the aromas of a colourful Turkish bazaar. The title-track
features yet more acoustic guitar and a sweet build that wobbles about,
yet never quite goes anywhere. That is until the bass drive of
“Epilogue” takes us floating out the back door on a relaxing tidal wash.

My Brother The Wind apparently don’t need a direction in which to
head, a focal point or a sense of purpose. As a consequence their music
isn’t necessarily essential listening. It doesn’t provide the sort of
experience that demands to be heard in any way. You need to want to go
on this journey to appreciate the simple, enigmatic beauty of it. Even
the album title has been designed to trigger deep thoughts. This is
indeed music that transcends time. It will be rendered redundant in the
wrong hands but it will become gold dust in the right ones.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

With four years having passed since the release of the monstrous Black Mass, there's a few landmarks to clear up before we gleefully delve into their disturbingly-titled eighth studio effort, Time To Die. This marks their first release on the excellent Spinefarm record label after a lifetime spent building a presence on Rise Above, and with a running time of 65 minutes it's also their longest to date.

Otherwise, it appears to be business as usual.
There is still layer upon layer of dense sludge, wall to wall reverb,
and that bruising, blackened tone they carry so well. Their standard
thematic barracking still rises to the fore and their repeating riffs
are jammed into oblivion. On the face of it Time To Die is one foul, gnarly and steady descent into the jaws of death.

The album comes bookended with the soothing sounds of a babbling brook
and all seems well until the slow-wind up of those splattering guitars
firing out with a dark purpose. Immediately, the repeating motif is
established as snippets from news reports which drive home the band's
modus operandus - it's a gimmick inspired by a combination of the
tape-trading, underground music scene and the associated scare-mongering
documentaries of Jus Osborn's youth. Very rapidly, the pit begins to open and Electric Wizard's sludge-packing, doom-and-gloom begins to pour out. Optimists should find some solace in the early lyric "We wanna get high before we die" - doesn't everybody, at least on some level?

You'd think the the evil contained in the words of the title-track might be the album's nadir. "Wake up baby, it's time to die" certainly
strikes a chord as it describes the vindictive wish for your soulmate
to be lucid when the time comes. However, just when you think the Wiz
can't sink lower they begin to churn out the filthy noise-blender of a
track, "I Am Nothing". Being force-fed this murderous distortion
and blistered overdrive truly does invoke the emotions of being inside
the shittiest of sewers. Vomiting from this sonic chaos frontman Jus
conjures his most hangdog delivery, each syllable potent with the whiff
of remorse and self-pity. The track climaxes in nothing less than
a slowly dissolving explosion of thick noisome brain matter - chaotic,
psychotic and gloriously hypnotic.

This first half-hour, covering just three tracks, leaves the band free
to make briefer, less-intense explorations into the subject. There's the
joy of hearing a small child gleefully exclaim "Almighty Satan, destroy those who love god", a chance to bliss out to the deconstructed freak-out "Funeral Of Your Mind", to trap yourself inside the monotonous crush of "We Love The Dead", or to rock out to the dual head-bobbing "SadioWitch" and "Lucifer's Slaves".

Dramatic, fertile and intensively personal, Time To Die sees
Electric Wizard digging deep into their psyches to extract something so
morbid as to feel obscene. Perhaps the album's final intonation should
be translated as a warning - "When you get into these groups there is
only a couple of ways you can get out... one is death, the other is
mental institutions or, third, you can't get out".

Redemption, formed in 2000, are an LA-based progressive metal band
who dabble in combining the melodious sounds of the old 70s bands with
the contemporary. There’s plenty of moments here that will have you
recalling monsters like Rainbow or Rush, but there are some strong
Eurorock touches in here too and there’s plenty of groove and grunt for
those seeking out the more rounded feel of, say, a Dream Theater or an
Iron Maiden.

Now let’s get this out the way. This DVD is fairly unsympathetic when
it comes to covering the sound (in 5.1 surround) and visual elements of
what Redemption have to offer. Funnily enough, the CD that comes
packaged with this seems to be more of a balanced audio representation
of the band’s abilities. However, if you do want to grab a snapshot of
the band on the road, without actually being in “the pit”, then it
certainly covers the basics.

The screen at the back of this particular show in Atlanta, Georgia
displays words, pictures, psychedelic patterns, images, messages &
videos which all seem designed to spark a reaction. Most, however,
receive little more than a smattering of whoops from the fairly
unresponsive crowd. My favourite had to be the words “Cancer is my
bitch” which flashed up during a track written about cheating death and
fighting the great fight.

The band as a live act seem a fairly static, play-straight-through,
kind of band. Some gyrate with the music more than others, but mostly
stay rooted to the spot. This inactiveness ranges from the rather
sullen, stock-still keyboardist, cast almost entirely in shadow, to the
vocalist who gently saunters around pausing occasionally to briefly
engage with the onlookers. Consequently, Redemption appear every one of
their years as they fail to fully engage – hardly an excuse when you
consider the lengths that those old dogs Iron Maiden go to.

You’ll also immediately notice the the occasional bass drop-out and
booming return here which occurs as the sound-desk tweak the levels.
There is also the vocal cut-off as frontman Ray Alder continues to
struggle with gauging the distance he can hold the mic from his mouth.
The cameras are static, one full-frontal stage shot gets overused, but
there are a couple of close-up cameras and one hand-held that roves
around. More shots of the crowd might well have reinforced the
connection between those on stage and those in front, but the fans are
mainly hidden until the encore.

When it comes to the music, some of the riffs and progressions aptly
display their love for bands like the afore-mentioned Maiden and Dream
Theater, but when they find their feet and begin to thrash you’ll also
notice their admiration for the power of Megadeth and Machine Head. They
certainly aren’t afraid to use intros and radio rips to build the
atmosphere. Conversely, the sparse lighting rig doesn’t help this cause
using little more than tri-coloured spots and blackouts between tracks.

Happily the music soon picks up from a fairly feeble start and by the
time they are hitting the complex construct that is “Dreams From The
Pit”, with its multiple passages, hooks and melodic themes, they begin
to really fire. It isn’t soon after that they are broaching more
sensitive subjects such as 9/11, addiction and religious extremism which
draw approving nods from the crowd.

“Parker’s Eyes”, in particular,
sees bassist Sean Andrews with his hearty 6-string Ibanez, grab the
spotlight and offers Alder the chance to use his huge vocal to great
effect. He sports a sweet, husky tone and displays strength, passion and
plenty of emotion in many of the set’s slower moments.

Redemption find their highlights when they are parading the triplet
of “Noonday Devil” (grubby and gloriously thrashy), “Nocturnal” (with
its teasing riff that falls disappointingly away), and “Stronger Than
Death”. This latter hit sports a sweet riff, gutsy underbelly and fiery
nature. Other superb little numbers are “The Death Of Faith And Reason”
which has menace, bite and plenty of thrash woven into it and their
finishing flourish, “Walls”. This final track is clearly their biggest
hit as it finally gets the reaction from the crowd that their skilful
reproduction of the music has deserved. Here, we do get a shot of the
crowd and it reveals some clapping, pogoing and even sparks one or two
singalongs.

What seems obvious from this whole package is that Redemption write
their best music when they find themselves at their most angriest or
sentimental. Strong emotions certainly seem to drive this band. Here’s
hoping you catch a show when they’re really pissed off.

Friday, October 3, 2014

Sporting
a moniker that describes the ancient Egyptian writing system, you’d
expect this Leeds sextet to have some pretty far-out ideas on where they
believe modern metal should be headed right now. Judging from the
mashed-up sound that emerges from their Freefall EP that assessment rings true.

The spine of the music is one hefty wedge of hard-hitting technical
groove metal, much in the manic, jam-packed style of Meshuggah or
Periphery. However, woven around this are other elements such as
electronic segues and heady melodic touches. They aren’t afraid to break
flow to achieve the aim of cramming their two very different vocalists
in. Mark Howes’ deathly roars and scowls most certainly get the blood
boiling, whilst Valentina Reptile’s Within Temptation-esque, crystalline
singing speaks to the heart.

There’s a current trend for dual vocal bands and the main problem
most have is in marrying the twin styles. Certainly, these two seem
poles apart. Neither the busy song construction or the harsh production
help matters, yet one cannot escape the fact that throughout tracks like
“In The Air” and, in particular, “Dubious Disc”, the one pulls whilst
the other pushes. Behind the band’s lightning groove, this boy-girl
combo simply tear the listener asunder.

Happily, the gritty title-track and the blacker “Tenebris”, both
feature a slower, spacious, infinitely more focussed design. The former
track leaps to the fore as the standout. It’s strongly reminiscent of
the kind of dark, hectic lunacy that Luis Dubuc’s Of Legends pumped out
and certainly proves that Hieroglyph aren’t short of talent. As a live
act, Hieroglyph have the potential to thrill, but they might need to
show a little less muscle and a little more of their dark side when
hitting the studio.